Friday, February 19, 2010

to be the same again! we grow quieter with age, I reckon. by that logic, those who lapse into childhood, and those who never grew up- mao mao?

so what of growing. i pine for those days of abandon. duties, akh!

and we came to understand beauty. t'was a cruel truth to find- to have known and thrown the best of them. the resilient, the steadfast. the pure. we ask you of these others. of their shapely limbs and so what of their clothes and shoes. we bow to thee the righteous and stay awake in quiet homage to her strength.

would you listen to these blues the boys cooked up. in remembrance, in longing and in quiet resignation. consumed by our monsters, we're done-for little cookies! ha ha.

another little missy to prove the point. going in to lose, headfirst without a chute. again. all of you on a silver platter, pickings and morsels. for you, anyway.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

memories are a strange affair; strike without warning, and so vivid sometimes that it's cruel. i have not the heart to go back to where i know i belong. hear me, and know that i am, without you but a silhouette against a rising sun.

Saturday, February 6, 2010

the new year brings with it the looming fork in the road. the cross-roads clearer than ever, and just so in-your-face. i've turned 21. happy birthday to me. none the wiser for it all, it seems. except now i understand truly that i am a fool, and may remain one. the saving grace to this state, and the strategy in place is to thrive on m'ability to appear otherwise; knowledgeable, experienced...even trustworthy. trust. haha!

the God debate continues. i feel, and possibly know for certain now that there is no escaping my fate. i see the world for what it is, and i see the power-battles and political mechanisms in place, vivid and smack on. hullo, reality X10.

Wali Ullah. Protector. Friend.

i've given to free-writing, with no structure, no purpose- much like my wretched, existentialist state. why, mother must i go, yet again to the holy land. i have incorporated spiritual wandering into this life that i've created with daddy's bank account. for that, then i owe you, not the truth- because the only truth i've known is that there is none, and that when relativism comes into play, we're all standing on either side of the fence thinking we've got the one-up- but obedience.

oh well.

i've tasted defeat. it was a delightfully downward experience; a spiraling stupor, of sorts. i was in awe, and i became her. it's ironic how being empty can be so...wholesome. so complete in it's thematic entirety. i loved you, and the pain for which you stand, and for which you fight. the mourning and the rituals, vicious and cyclical- the quiet fury of an aching, broken child.

heavy hearts and the devil's piss make for long nights and sorrow.

i like this new practice of rambling without the strains of grammar and structure. pour out as it pours over, and we'll make lovely music out of it all. sing me a song, piano-man.